The Lost Words
by rdouglas
Summary: About a child who cannot find his place


The Lost Words

"Locate me in a swing" (Sanford 271). There is sand beneath my feet, but my legs are too short to reach the ground. My legs pump up and down easily as I keep a tight hold on the metal chains. I see my mother standing only a few feet away. She is talking to another woman, but keeps glancing my way. Her glances allow for my heavy breathing to slow, the worry in my eyes to fade; without them I would feel lost. I slow the pumping of my legs so I can motion with my hand for her to come over. I make a slight and soft grunting noise to accompany the motion. She sees me and an instant later she is by my side. She is still talking to the other woman. I hear words like "speech therapy" and "motor skills" and "special needs". I understand they are talking about me, but I just look and listen. I tap my mother's leg and she understands I want to leave. While in the car, she chatters away, asking me questions, questions that I can answer, but I do not. I could say _no, I don't want a play date with Daniel, I don't talk, so he thinks I'm no fun_, but I remain in my forever silent state.

I did not used to be completely silent. I never really liked talking, but I was told I had to speak to be understood by the outside world. So I spoke when I needed to. "Mommy, I'm cold. Daddy, can I have that toy?"I did not have a large vocabulary, but I managed to verbally communicate all that I needed to. A year or two after I started speaking in full sentences, I was told about a baby brother. My world was changed after _he_ was born. I was left alone more often and everyone wanted only to see the little child. Slowly, I started to talk less because nobody asked me anything any more. Sometimes I would go into the baby's room and softly talk to him, because he was the only one who could not tell me to _be quiet, we want the baby to sleep, we can't listen to your story right now, SHHH, we told you to stop talking. _I would whisper my stories to the baby, and for once, someone listened. One time, I tried to talk to the baby when he was sleeping. My talking woke him up and he started to cry. I climbed into his crib to try and rock him to sleep like I had watched Mommy do, but he only cried more. Mommy came into the room, saw me with the baby, and suddenly I was picked up and dropped onto the ground. _What are you doing with him, you could hurt him, stay __away__ from the baby!_

I didn't talk to my brother after that. I didn't talk to anyone.I went back to my old ways and started using more and more hand motions to communicate what I wanted or was trying to say. I found out people understood me just as well, so I continued. Even though I did not speak, I still understood. To this day, I understand everything said around me, even if other people do not believe I can comprehend.

Day after day, I go to school. The other kids are not like me. Even though many of the children slur their words, or just mumble to themselves without truly making sense, they still talk and talk and talk with each other. I sit there and play. Every day, a boy in my class, Anthony, comes up to me and eagerly says, _D-doyouwantt-toh-helpmebuildthet-traintrack? _I stare at him and shake my head, so he moves on to the next child and repeats the same sentence, with the same amount of enthusiasm and with the same way of stringing all of his stuttered words together. As the other kids begin to build the train track, they start to fight over who gets to play with what train. They yell, _No, I want Thomas the Train!_ _That one is __mine!_While I can grab a train out of someone's hand just as well as anyone else in the room, in order to really fit in, I would have to yell too_. I watch as the other kids play and interact with each other, almost crying from my want to join in with the others._

_Special _teachers try to coax out my voice by asking never ending questions and trying to get me to play speaking games, but I give them my usual responses with hand motions, gestures, and small noises from my throat. I will tug their hand to bring them somewhere, tap their leg and point with my finger in request of an object, motion to my throat when I am hungry or thirsty. They understand, but are not pleased. _Mmmmmilk? Do you want Milk? _Yes, I want milk, but that hard "M" sound you make and exaggerated lip action will not make me say it. I gesture to my throat. I receive a cup of milk.

When I am in my room all by myself, I try to talk again. Just little words. Mommy and Daddy are taking care of my little brother as always so they are too busy to hear me making any noise. I think, _milk. _I remember I used to say that word, I remember how to move my lips and tongue to form the now lost word; I know I can do it.

"I don't though. It hurts too much. And besides, nobody listens when I talk.

Sometimes not even me" (Sanford 274).


End file.
